1. 'Teen prodigies' in the world of sports are a clean 3 years younger than you.
2. WWE matches you watched as a kid now appear in their 'This week in History' segment.
3. The Hospital you were born in is not a hospital anymore, and the Doctor who delivered you is... er... Not there.
4. You do not open throttle fully as soon as you see an empty stretch of road, but hold a sedate 40k in the interest of fuel economy.
5. Auto people graduate from calling you 'thambi' to 'saar'.
6. Kids playing on the street tell you 'Uncle, can you please give the ball'.
Updates are welcome.
(With inputs from The Deputy Manager (Manufacturing), Ashok Leyland Ltd.)
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Motorcycle Diaries: Part II
The story so far...
A group of guys get dressed up and hire bikes. They plan to roam around town, meet a lot of girls, preferably hot, French ones, fall in love with them, get married and open a new chapter in Indo-French relations. Everything happens except for the 'meeting a lot of girls' part and its consequent actions. Hence, they are still riding around town...
The Silver Beach had been recommended to us by a bunch of enthusiastic localites determined to promote their region as the favoured tourist destnation in India, next only to the Taj Mahal. It was actually in the adjoining town, a near thirty kilometer ride along a highway with small villages and large industries sprinkled along the path. Navigation was not too great a problem. There was one road, which went left and right, and curved this way and that and didn't split or intersect or indulge in any other disorienting act.
Just as we started out on this trip in the early evening, the weather made a complete volte-face. Dark clouds gathered overhead and completely blotted out the sun. The sky was dark enough to prompt thoughts of a large mother-ship breaking out of the clouds a la Independence Day. With all the foersight of the builders of the Titanic, we forgot to take any protective eye or head-gear. Those with spectacles had a tough time dealing with the sands whipped up by the wind, which was really building up now. Me, with my 15/20, 20/20 in my eyes and lack of speactacles thereof, felt like Brendan Fraser in The Mummy. The gale-force winds apart, everytime a huge vehicle like a bus, or one of those eight-wheel lorries carrying one of them chemicals (Yes, I'm a Chemical Engineer, but I don't want to burden you with technicalities) went by, the slip-stream was a literal slap in the face. At times, getting through these walls of resistance felt like breaking the sonic barrier (though I have no idea what that feels like).
The clouds were now definitely building up towards something big. The villages became fewer in number, and quintessential highway stretches began to appear- two lanes, hige trees on either side, incredible wind in your hair, mind subconsciously playing 'Endrendrum Punnagai...'. While I was not in pursuit of any speed records, we decided it would be a good idea to get to the safety of civilization before the storm broke. So we just lightly tipped the accelerator, you know, just to be sure. We didn't hit anything more than 90, really. And our efforts were rewarded, as we reached the town safely. Just as the skies opened up.
The incredible irony of us racing towards a beach to beat a storm, was not last on us. Riders on the Storm or not, I didn't quite relish the idea of a wet 'n wild visit to the beach. Hence, abandoning our vehicles under the nearest trees, we rushed into quite an unusual source of shelter which we found in a parking lot next to the beach. 'Old, rusted, gears-broken, head-light-removed autos with their roof intact' must rank second only to 'narrow, space-only-for-two, dark alley with hot girl already in it' on the list of 'Places to shelter from the rain'.
As the rain petered out, we moved out of our auto-matic shelters and headed towards the beach. The sand was not silver, though it was very clean for a public beach. I will not be cynical and claim it was only because this government-sponsored festival was going on there, and as is the case in India, the place was all spruced up just for the occassion. The water was silvery, but that could've been because of the rains- the sky was silvery as well. After a prolonged discussion that lasted all of two minutes, we decided it was called Silver Beach because Golden Beach was already taken by VGP. This seemed very logical and all were happy.
The summer festival had attracted immense crowds, and there were loudspeakers placed at optimum positions dissemenating a speech that some leader was making. The security was pretty tight as well. There were so many cops around that we formed a square of bikes around this one bike whose key had fallen off in the melee caused by the rains, and left them there.. If there had not been so much security, we would've been afraid to leave the bike unguarded at all. Tamil Nadu's finest filled us with much confidence. Seriously.
After around half an hour of splashing around in the waters, running on the beach and doing everything else that all of us had done on countless other beaches, we came back to our strategically-parked bike unit. Which was still there, thankfully. The clouds had disappeared and so had the sun. Starting out in darkness, we retraced the straight path which we had folowed with so much difficulty on our onward journey. The thing about driving at night on an unlit highway with the headlights from the opposing vehicles glaring in your eyes is that you're mostly blind. You can see approximately two meters in front of you, and you know from Newton's laws that you're not going to be able to stop within two meters from the speed you are travelling. Once again, hope lives. Apart from a few speed-breakers which got missed, and hence became take-off ramps, the ride was mostly uneventful.
All the riding left people ravenously hungry, and we found salvation in the staple diet of Indian travelers all over the world- Dosa, Sambhar and Tea. All good things have to come to an end though, and it was time to return the bikes back where they belonged. After bidding a tearful farewell to the extra fifty bucks for the lost key, we trudged back to the bus station to go back to out little, cut-off-from-the-world village. But not before having confirmed that any of our 4 other bike keys worked just as well on the bike for which we had lost the key. A little knowledge, dangerous thing...
A group of guys get dressed up and hire bikes. They plan to roam around town, meet a lot of girls, preferably hot, French ones, fall in love with them, get married and open a new chapter in Indo-French relations. Everything happens except for the 'meeting a lot of girls' part and its consequent actions. Hence, they are still riding around town...
The Silver Beach had been recommended to us by a bunch of enthusiastic localites determined to promote their region as the favoured tourist destnation in India, next only to the Taj Mahal. It was actually in the adjoining town, a near thirty kilometer ride along a highway with small villages and large industries sprinkled along the path. Navigation was not too great a problem. There was one road, which went left and right, and curved this way and that and didn't split or intersect or indulge in any other disorienting act.
Just as we started out on this trip in the early evening, the weather made a complete volte-face. Dark clouds gathered overhead and completely blotted out the sun. The sky was dark enough to prompt thoughts of a large mother-ship breaking out of the clouds a la Independence Day. With all the foersight of the builders of the Titanic, we forgot to take any protective eye or head-gear. Those with spectacles had a tough time dealing with the sands whipped up by the wind, which was really building up now. Me, with my 15/20, 20/20 in my eyes and lack of speactacles thereof, felt like Brendan Fraser in The Mummy. The gale-force winds apart, everytime a huge vehicle like a bus, or one of those eight-wheel lorries carrying one of them chemicals (Yes, I'm a Chemical Engineer, but I don't want to burden you with technicalities) went by, the slip-stream was a literal slap in the face. At times, getting through these walls of resistance felt like breaking the sonic barrier (though I have no idea what that feels like).
The clouds were now definitely building up towards something big. The villages became fewer in number, and quintessential highway stretches began to appear- two lanes, hige trees on either side, incredible wind in your hair, mind subconsciously playing 'Endrendrum Punnagai...'. While I was not in pursuit of any speed records, we decided it would be a good idea to get to the safety of civilization before the storm broke. So we just lightly tipped the accelerator, you know, just to be sure. We didn't hit anything more than 90, really. And our efforts were rewarded, as we reached the town safely. Just as the skies opened up.
The incredible irony of us racing towards a beach to beat a storm, was not last on us. Riders on the Storm or not, I didn't quite relish the idea of a wet 'n wild visit to the beach. Hence, abandoning our vehicles under the nearest trees, we rushed into quite an unusual source of shelter which we found in a parking lot next to the beach. 'Old, rusted, gears-broken, head-light-removed autos with their roof intact' must rank second only to 'narrow, space-only-for-two, dark alley with hot girl already in it' on the list of 'Places to shelter from the rain'.
As the rain petered out, we moved out of our auto-matic shelters and headed towards the beach. The sand was not silver, though it was very clean for a public beach. I will not be cynical and claim it was only because this government-sponsored festival was going on there, and as is the case in India, the place was all spruced up just for the occassion. The water was silvery, but that could've been because of the rains- the sky was silvery as well. After a prolonged discussion that lasted all of two minutes, we decided it was called Silver Beach because Golden Beach was already taken by VGP. This seemed very logical and all were happy.
The summer festival had attracted immense crowds, and there were loudspeakers placed at optimum positions dissemenating a speech that some leader was making. The security was pretty tight as well. There were so many cops around that we formed a square of bikes around this one bike whose key had fallen off in the melee caused by the rains, and left them there.. If there had not been so much security, we would've been afraid to leave the bike unguarded at all. Tamil Nadu's finest filled us with much confidence. Seriously.
After around half an hour of splashing around in the waters, running on the beach and doing everything else that all of us had done on countless other beaches, we came back to our strategically-parked bike unit. Which was still there, thankfully. The clouds had disappeared and so had the sun. Starting out in darkness, we retraced the straight path which we had folowed with so much difficulty on our onward journey. The thing about driving at night on an unlit highway with the headlights from the opposing vehicles glaring in your eyes is that you're mostly blind. You can see approximately two meters in front of you, and you know from Newton's laws that you're not going to be able to stop within two meters from the speed you are travelling. Once again, hope lives. Apart from a few speed-breakers which got missed, and hence became take-off ramps, the ride was mostly uneventful.
All the riding left people ravenously hungry, and we found salvation in the staple diet of Indian travelers all over the world- Dosa, Sambhar and Tea. All good things have to come to an end though, and it was time to return the bikes back where they belonged. After bidding a tearful farewell to the extra fifty bucks for the lost key, we trudged back to the bus station to go back to out little, cut-off-from-the-world village. But not before having confirmed that any of our 4 other bike keys worked just as well on the bike for which we had lost the key. A little knowledge, dangerous thing...
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Motorcycle Diaries: Part I
Life is so rewarding. Think about all those people who go to bed alone every night, with nothing more than a small pillow and a prayer by their side. And then think of me, waking up everyday with two other guys for company. Three, if it was a lucky day, like today. Two of who I didn't even know, and all of them topless. No man is an island...
It was okay really. I am used to finding unexpected occurences when I wake up. Like seeing the clock twenty minutes past the start of the quiz. Or 7 P.M when I had aimed for A.M. So us, the foursome, joined the twosome from the next room and got down to the process of tidying ourselves up for the countless girls we were not going to meet all day. But still, we hope. For isn't it hope that sustains so many things? George.W.Bush, Indian cricket team, Romance for IIT guys...
The mostly uneventful bus journey into the city was made slightly worth mentioning by the fact that we couldn't get off the bus. The assumption in these buses is that people only get on and never get off, till the last stop. And so they keep packing in people so much that they make a pack of sardines seem like a night inside Paris Hilton (yes, the hotel.) So, panic situation caused us to disembark a good kilometer before our actual stop. And it's not a very pleasant walk through a busy street in the morning sun. In my defence, I thought the square-shaped shop with 'BAR' written in big, bold lettering was our cue to get down. Unfortunately, here, there's one of them every hundred meters. No, fifty.
The morning workout succesfully completed, we arrived at the place where they gave out Shadowfax...er, rented bikes. If you're a guy, please continue reading this paragraph. Ladies, can skip this paragraph. A motor-bike is this machine that combines man's two greatest loves. Speed and Speed. Some of you might argue that it's acrually speed and gals, but that's why I asked you ladies to go to the next paragraph. It needs someone who has been on an auto-geared two-wheeler all his life to deeply appreciate the wonder of the gear ratio in fourth. And of the click-click of the transmission changing. And the total nonchalanece with which the engine handles the ever-mounting revs. And the sense of absolute power just sitting on one of these things.
So, we hired bikes and we were all happy. Score! With all the feel-good generated from this accomplishment, we kicked into action, literally. Riding back the same way we had come in the bu, we went in search of this 'global village, where people live in peace and harmony, connecting with their inner self, and are above all religion, race or country'. Well, the Taliban might still shoot you down if you went to Afghanistan, but otherwise, you were a global citizen. Overall, it was this serene kind of place. It was. The five-minute presentation extolled all the above-said virtues of the place, and then it was all about walking through the woods. For peace and inner harmony and all that. I'm sure there are exactly similar patches of woods in my own campus which I haven't discovered yet. If anything, the place did prove that trees cool their surroundings, especially if the 'trees' is one huge, big, mega-banyan as large as Paris Hilton's... suites (It is always the hotel!)
Having been saved partialy from the merciless sun in this 'cool' place (ONLY weather-wise), we proceeded to bike round and round the circuitous path laid out to the highway. And thence back to the city. The minor problems of petrol running out in one vehicle and engine dying out in another were... just that, minor problems. Nothing that a few drops of petrol and a bit of kicking and cursing couldn't solve.
The priority now was to confine ourselves to a nice air-conditioned restaurant for the better part of the afternoon. For all the riders' bravado and spirit of adventure and all, we still weren't willing to risk sun-burn, skin cancer and the like. The restaurant was found easily enough, and they had a surprisingly good Sphagetti on offer as well, which went straight on my order list, given my propensity for international cuisine. The hotel management was also helpful in our endeavour to kill time, prompting thoughts of whether they had taken our order for lunch or for dinner. A couple of unburnt rotis, two helping of sweet saunf each, and a desperate pooling of money for the bill preceded our next leg of the journey. To this place which got created first, and around which they decided to build the rest of the town.
The beach, with its rocky outcroppings rather than fine sand, is the hub of the town. The government building, police headquarters, and one other similarly importan administrative building are on this road. Any tsunami with an ounce of self-respect could put the entire government machinery out of action for weeks. But I guess they've allowed for such exigensies. Our main spot of interest was this Italin ice-cream shop, which served one hell of a Chocodip. They were consumed in anticipation of the long ride ahead and ten minutes later, there was a queue for the men's room. Again, in anticipation of the long ride ahead. But also as a consequence of the Chocodips. By this time, the two faulty vehicles which had given trouble on the way back from peace-land had also been exchanged for two other beauties - a white stallion with... right, must stop with the horse analogies. Anyway, that was the equation. 5 bikes, 9 guys and God-knows-how-long a ride to wherever-Silver-Beach-was...
The mostly uneventful bus journey into the city was made slightly worth mentioning by the fact that we couldn't get off the bus. The assumption in these buses is that people only get on and never get off, till the last stop. And so they keep packing in people so much that they make a pack of sardines seem like a night inside Paris Hilton (yes, the hotel.) So, panic situation caused us to disembark a good kilometer before our actual stop. And it's not a very pleasant walk through a busy street in the morning sun. In my defence, I thought the square-shaped shop with 'BAR' written in big, bold lettering was our cue to get down. Unfortunately, here, there's one of them every hundred meters. No, fifty.
The morning workout succesfully completed, we arrived at the place where they gave out Shadowfax...er, rented bikes. If you're a guy, please continue reading this paragraph. Ladies, can skip this paragraph. A motor-bike is this machine that combines man's two greatest loves. Speed and Speed. Some of you might argue that it's acrually speed and gals, but that's why I asked you ladies to go to the next paragraph. It needs someone who has been on an auto-geared two-wheeler all his life to deeply appreciate the wonder of the gear ratio in fourth. And of the click-click of the transmission changing. And the total nonchalanece with which the engine handles the ever-mounting revs. And the sense of absolute power just sitting on one of these things.
So, we hired bikes and we were all happy. Score! With all the feel-good generated from this accomplishment, we kicked into action, literally. Riding back the same way we had come in the bu, we went in search of this 'global village, where people live in peace and harmony, connecting with their inner self, and are above all religion, race or country'. Well, the Taliban might still shoot you down if you went to Afghanistan, but otherwise, you were a global citizen. Overall, it was this serene kind of place. It was. The five-minute presentation extolled all the above-said virtues of the place, and then it was all about walking through the woods. For peace and inner harmony and all that. I'm sure there are exactly similar patches of woods in my own campus which I haven't discovered yet. If anything, the place did prove that trees cool their surroundings, especially if the 'trees' is one huge, big, mega-banyan as large as Paris Hilton's... suites (It is always the hotel!)
Having been saved partialy from the merciless sun in this 'cool' place (ONLY weather-wise), we proceeded to bike round and round the circuitous path laid out to the highway. And thence back to the city. The minor problems of petrol running out in one vehicle and engine dying out in another were... just that, minor problems. Nothing that a few drops of petrol and a bit of kicking and cursing couldn't solve.
The priority now was to confine ourselves to a nice air-conditioned restaurant for the better part of the afternoon. For all the riders' bravado and spirit of adventure and all, we still weren't willing to risk sun-burn, skin cancer and the like. The restaurant was found easily enough, and they had a surprisingly good Sphagetti on offer as well, which went straight on my order list, given my propensity for international cuisine. The hotel management was also helpful in our endeavour to kill time, prompting thoughts of whether they had taken our order for lunch or for dinner. A couple of unburnt rotis, two helping of sweet saunf each, and a desperate pooling of money for the bill preceded our next leg of the journey. To this place which got created first, and around which they decided to build the rest of the town.
The beach, with its rocky outcroppings rather than fine sand, is the hub of the town. The government building, police headquarters, and one other similarly importan administrative building are on this road. Any tsunami with an ounce of self-respect could put the entire government machinery out of action for weeks. But I guess they've allowed for such exigensies. Our main spot of interest was this Italin ice-cream shop, which served one hell of a Chocodip. They were consumed in anticipation of the long ride ahead and ten minutes later, there was a queue for the men's room. Again, in anticipation of the long ride ahead. But also as a consequence of the Chocodips. By this time, the two faulty vehicles which had given trouble on the way back from peace-land had also been exchanged for two other beauties - a white stallion with... right, must stop with the horse analogies. Anyway, that was the equation. 5 bikes, 9 guys and God-knows-how-long a ride to wherever-Silver-Beach-was...
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